


Don’t.

by HollowRosewood



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Fist Fights, He’s dying guys, Hospitals, M/M, Major Character Injury, can’t stop me noowwww I’m having such a good time, death ideation, hurt and eventual comfort, not If Alexander has anything to say about it though, or at least trying to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 03:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17821217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowRosewood/pseuds/HollowRosewood
Summary: In which John Laurens wants to die, and he almost gets away with it.





	Don’t.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was based on a request / prompt. I wrote it 10,000 years ago and finally posted it.

Ever since he was a child, John Laurens always seemed to have a problem controlling himself. His temper, his behavior, his actions. They were problems, they were his problems, and he had done absolutely nothing to fix them. Regardless of how he was scolded by his father, he would still get what he wanted if he whined and bitched enough; and if somebody else didn’t give it to him, he got it himself. His morals were in the right place, his intention and his needs ment for the bettering of others. It wasn’t as though he begged for the simplest things, his requests and his fights were always within reason. He had gotten into plenty of fistfights with his sisters boyfriends, reprimanding them for the way they had treated her. Plenty of fights for other people, protecting other people, defending other people, but never himself.  
Oh no, never himself.

He had started to recently though, he had started to find some self worth and some reason to defend himself, and that reason was because of a loudmouth red-head that didn’t know the meaning of the word no. Alexander Hamilton knew words though, and he knew them well. He knew how to speak with John, the right things to say. Hamilton had found a way to worm into John’s senses and knock him back, force him to see a light within himself. Alexander saw John in a way that John could never see himself and it gave him hope. Every day, John could see the way Alexander’s eyes would light up every time he looked at him. Every day, John could see the way Alexander’s cheeks would flush every time John said something even remotely kind to him. So every day, John would find just a little more value within himself because it was _him_ that was doing this to Alexander, he was the one making the little lion smile and no one else. 

But he had gone to far, so perhaps that’s why he went to the bar, knowing they were close to the breaking point of their relationship.  
His temper, his inner desire to fight, had caused him to hurt Hamilton. He had made the other angry, had made him upset, and John had failed himself by doing so.

They had gotten into another argument, their fourth in the past two weeks and they weren’t pretty fights either. Angry words were thrown, low insults and blows, unnecessary callouts. John couldn’t remember what had caused them, what the first one or the second one or the third one was about. Perhaps it was about Hamilton’s non-stop work ethic, perhaps it was John getting himself hurt, perhaps it was just a lack of communication, but either way the fights weren’t events that could be casually tossed aside. They each ended with someone walking out the door, usually Hamilton, before he would return with a three page letter and tears in his eyes and they would talk it out. They always tried to talk things out after an explosion, tried to pick up the pieces and pin them back together with glue and tape. 

This last one however… John knew he had said the wrong thing, angry words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them and after seeing the absolute heartbreak on Alexander’s face, after seeing what he had done, John left. He was only trying to defend Hamilton from himself, he was only trying to get the non-stop man to take a break and Alexander was having none of it. They hurled insults, argued, raised their voices- but the moment John had dragged Hamilton’s past into the fight to try and get him to understand, he knew he had messed up.  
He had broken Alexander and it was all his damn fault.

So that’s when he found himself at the bar, his head buried in his arms on the counter- having lost count of how many times his glass had been refilled. It wasn’t like the cost of the tab worried him, it was never something that ever concerned him, and that in and of itself would cause spats with Alexander. The southerner was becoming increasingly irritated because no matter how much alcohol he put in his system, he wasn’t being affected. The drinks weren’t numbing the pain in his head or the ache in his heart, the toxic thing he was so desperate to kill wasn’t dying inside him. He was becoming desperate, his aggravation clear as he let out a frustrated growl and banged his fist against the counter. Where was the numbing sensation? Why was he still hurting? Why did he still feel guilty? Why weren’t these feelings going away?

Upset that the alcohol wasn’t doing its job, John realized he needed something else. He threw his card at the bartender and snatched it back just as quick, shoving his hands in his pockets and storming out the door. He couldn’t tell how much he was stumbling, didn’t realize just how much of a fog had taken over him. Every step he took felt like he was wading through gel, but he managed to blame it on the cold air around him. He began following his steps back to his and Alexanders shared apartment- knowing that even if he felt unwelcome, there was still nowhere else to go. It was his place anyway, so maybe he would just kick Alexander out.

He punched the wall.

Glaring down at his now bleeding knuckles, John stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to stare down at the damage he had done to his fist. He watched crimson blood slowly creep down the back of his hand before dripping down to the mush of ice and dirt under his feet. What was he thinking? Kicking Alexander out? He couldn’t do that even if he wanted to, he loved the Caribbean man to much. What was wrong with him, why couldn’t he think straight? 

Oh right, the alcohol.

He didn’t know how long he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, couldn’t quite recall as everything was a big blur. Someone knocked into him, his aggression took over, and it was the perfect opportunity to swing.

 

 

Fuck it hurt. 

Fuck it hurt a lot.

The pain was overwhelming, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of it. His abdomen, his back, his legs, his head, his chest. Everything was a mess and a bloody one at that. His chest rattled with each inhale and John could see the world around him zooming in and out of focus. Even though everything hurt, he felt like he was underwater. He knew he should be screaming and crying in pain, the broken ribs and bruised body telling him that- and yet he didn’t feel a thing. 

Finally, he was numb. 

A content sigh escaped him before it turned into a broken laugh, followed by a near delirious grin. John Laurens lay still on his back, bruised arms spread in welcoming as his own blood began to freeze against his skin with a smile on his face. A small one, but a sad one. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too bad. This sensation of feeling nothing, the cold air numbing his fingers and toes, was bliss. He was willing and ready to close his eyes, to lay contently and just forget the world. It seemed like such an easy task, to shut his eyes and go to sleep. He reassured himself that the world would be better off, his father would be able to capitalize on his death and make himself look like the loving and caring man he wasn’t. Alexander would be able to have a relationship with someone who was open with him, with someone who would let the world see him. 

He would finally be able to see his mother again, be reassured by her again.

He would finally be able to see Jemmy again, apologize to him over and over until Jemmy would laugh and hug him until forgiveness. 

It was perfect. What John felt was bliss, pure bliss as he lay numb in the cold back streets of New York. This new numbness had become his Nirvana, something he had never experienced before. The aching pain he was feeling was something he deserved and perhaps his death would be the freedom he had always longed for. He would be free from his father, and his father from him. He would free his mother and Jemmy, the versions that have been locked in his mind and their images distorted by guilt. His death would set them free. His Alexander, his dear little lion, would be free from the demons of self-doubt that John had created whenever the blonde would resist the others advances. Freedom was bliss and in death there was nothing but blue skies. He was finally prepared, another shaky sigh escaping him an-

 _“No!”_

His thoughts were rattled and he knew his body jolted but he doesn’t remember telling it to. Johns brows furrowed in confusion, his head lolling to the side to follow the sound of steps rushing closer to him, kicking up the mush around him. There was a warmth that appeared besides him and he cried out, trying to pull away but his body wasn’t listening. He didn’t want the warmth, the warmth was pushing away the cold and the cold meant he was numb. He didn’t want to go back to the emotional turmoil, he was so close to his Nirvana he couldn’t turn back now. 

“John! John, for the love of god-” He felt as though he was underwater. His head was swimming, the voice so familiar to his heart but he couldn’t quite make it out. He was too busy fighting to get away from the warm body, but hands that were not his own had taken control and wrapped around his bruising torso. He knew he was trapped, this heat was the only thing keeping away from the numbing death he was so desperate for. 

“Lafayette, call an ambulance now! Please!”

Lafayette… He knew that name, right? Right, one of his friends from college. Well, someone who started off as friend. He supposed that is another person who would be free without him. The Frenchman didn’t need the burden of a depressed ex-football player to damper his lively days. 

He cracked open his eyes- since when had he closed them?- to look up at the figure above him. Auburn curls were escaping a half-assed braid, tickling his nose as the man holding him was leaning over and examining whatever wounds that had been inflicted upon him. John cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing because he knew those curls. He knew those sharp cheekbones, those freckled cheeks. He recognized the delicate yet firm touch of the fingers that glided against his bruises skin. He recognized that watch, a graduation present that John had bought himself.

“Alexander…” He croaked, or tried to at least. He was horrified to hear nothing but a raspy breath, his lips parting but nothing escaping him. It still caught Hamiltons attention though, the man turning to him and immediately John was overwhelmed. It was just like when they first met, violet eyes filled with a fire and unyielding passion piercing into him. The colors and spirit of the man before him laid out on his cheek, demanding to be taken for who he was and what he was going to do. It was one the reasons John had fallen in love and it was happening all over again. 

But this time it was different. He didn’t see the eyes that saved him god knows how many times before. The fiery passion was replaced by watering fear, the smirk that challenged gods was replaced by worry lines and miniscule quivers. Alexander’s eyes were clouded by pain, red with tears as the red head tried to push both of them through the situation John had gotten himself in. 

John frowned. He didn’t like this, this wasn’t his Alexander. Where was his spitfire? Where was his lion? With what little strength he had, he raised his arm to cup Hamilton's face in his hand and hold him eye to eye. 

All John could see was pain.

This wasn’t what he wanted, he wanted the pain for himself gone not transferred over. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Alexander was supposed to be okay and move on, he was supposed to smile as John left him- perhaps even a little angry as he goes, but that would be okay. He didn’t want tears, he didn’t want pain. Yet Alexander's eyes were so clouded, Johns bloody hand catching tears and John desperately searched in the violet for his Alexander but he was gone.  
And John did this. 

To see what he did in person was much different then slamming the door. The need to fix what he had done was suffocating him because he couldn’t think of how. His concussed mind was still far too intoxicated, his movements far too sloppy and he couldn’t begin to string out words. 

There was movement around, flashing lights off in the distances and he could see Alexanders lips moving as he spoke to a new face that swam in John's vision. There was darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision and he kept focus on his Alexander, or what was left of him. He could see lips moving, could see the red and white of the ambulance lights and feel the rush of people sprinting towards him- but he couldn’t hear a thing. Alexander looked down at him and held him close, shaky fingers brushing Johns hair out of his face and eyes. The blonde watched as Hamilton fretted over him, watched Hamiltons lips move and imaging the sweet words of encouragement that were coming from the other. It was the idea that kept John from fading into the numb world that called for him. He could see Alexander beginning to look away from him as an EMT knelt down on the other side of Johns body and the southerner began to panic. He pulled Hamilton back down to look at him, 

“Don't..” He begged, voice nothing more than a whisper lost in the sharp wind. John watched as another quiver shook his lovers bottom lip, the other about to clench his eyes shut to fight away the onslaught of tears, but John would have none of it. He needed to see his Alexander, he needed to find him one last time in the pools of violet- he needed to see that he didn’t do as much damage as he thought he did. “Don’t you dare close your eyes on me…”

The darkness soon overtook him as he stared up at his lover, searching in the foggy eyes that obeyed his command and finding nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you come here for comfort? Lmao, not in my chapter one!
> 
> All of the improvement comes in chapter 2, which has yet to be written so good luck to us all. 
> 
> Yes i used historical descriptions. 
> 
> 1) That was part of the request
> 
> 2) Alexander was a beautiful man and those violet eyes are a godsend
> 
> \- until chapter two!


End file.
